Godclads

Chapter 31-2 Those We Lose

Death is a horror. This everyone knows but refuses to face. For the ones we lose mark us as well, deform our minds and actions so severely that, if our present self and past self meet, madness might become our final fate.

For who could face a stranger wearing their own skin.

Most learn to face this horror. Accept death. Hope that they stand among the lucky few to avoid a final end. But in my eyes, death without being claimed by a god will be true neutrality. No meaning. Nothing. Until from that nothing comes something again. For what preceded the gods was existence before existence, and from that? Even the minds do not have an answer.

But these are absolute questions left unanswered by civilizations far greater and grander than ours. As people, we must face the relatives of our existence. And endure the severity of loss, for that which awaits before death is dread, then to lose another who has been so close to you is true sorrow... true grief. True and absolute upon your person. As much a miracle as those wielded by the gods.

-Jaus Avandaer

31-2

Those We Lose

Draus knew Highflame’s logistics were pretty south of fucked when she found war drones and bioforms stationed in Axtraxis’s vents. It seemed like every inch of spare space—and some not so spare space—was getting used. Being an academy, Axtraxis was made to house people for extended periods, but it was an elite school oriented toward one sole function: producing the next generation of Instruments in the Great Wars. It wasn’t made to be a massive military installation—did any Guild actively have one massive base anymore. Made things priority targets that way. Easy to attack.

People litter spaces. Lots of them are just waiting. No orders. Not sure what to do.

Expands her Manifold Paracosm and studies them. This isn’t the highflame she knows. Soldiers strong and well armed still, but they are headless. Utterly devastated by the sudden spillage of the substance. And a growing discontent is brewing, with them upset they are cooped here instead of actively raiding and trying to start a war.

She gained more perspective with each junction she created, and moving back and forth between her temporal thresholds gave her ample time to survey the inner architecture of Axtraxis; get a good lay of the land. Her DeepNav was still shittin’ itself, but she knew this place well enough from war games she and other Regs ran for fun. And on that note, even across the maintenance sections where the Rendsinks, coolers, reactors, and storage containment units were found, she saw no Regs. None of her like.

The only ones down here were technicians and a few servants for the Great Houses. They littered the cramped spaces, muttering to each other, talking about how lost they were, what warhosts they used to belong to. There was a brutal malaise in the air; a sense of isolation even among those who sat in groups here. They, too, were cobbled together.

“It’s shameful. House Aetos would’ve never let things get this dire,” a servant in a mangled suit said. He looked at a technician who was busy trying to repair her damaged cybernetic arm with the help of a drone as they both sat beside a wall infused with interlacing loci matrices. “We remain here—sequestered like vermin. Gathering our forces—gathering day and day while our enemies mass, while our fellow Citizens remain trapped within that terrible... Substance. I—listen, I have been hearing whispers. Some people with Omnitech Exo-Cortex augmentations have claimed that... that we have been deceived. That there are other orders demand we head toward Omnitech territory... That Acting Authority Mondelles...”

“Listen,” the technician said as she tried to open her cybernetic arm’s fingers. The entire forearm extended instead. She winced and returned to her tweaking. “People talk a lot of shit all the time. Until we get proper orders from someone of higher seniority or position than Mondelles, stow it with the conspiracy shit. Stop spreading the Silver’s mem-cons for them...”

+He speaks truth,+ Mercy said. The Famine returned to Draus, performing cognitive reconnaissance of his own. In moments, the information he knew became hers as well, and splashes of damaged data played over her cog-feed.

Offi@IFNL AL ORD3rRR

ATTTTEND–

HEED THIS MESSAGE

ALL CITIZENS OF HIGHFLAME ARE TO IMMEDIATELY MOVE TOWARD OMNITECH TERRITORY AND AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS FROM THE LOCAL ADMINS TIED TO THE INFACER OR SPEAKER OSJON THOUSANDBLEEESS—

+Well. AIn’t that something. Conflicting orders. Don’t reckon I’ve seen that before.+ Sarcasm aside, Draus was more than familiar with conflicting orders. They happened all the time when Godclads from the Great Houses were dueling with each other in the field. Fighting over who was going to claim glory first. Often times, their squabbles involved Regulars in unbefitting ways.

On this note, she also had an idea about where most the Regs were. The lack of her kind around here was suspect to begin with. If Draus were to guess, they were probably with Osjon. How that bald-fuck got away without any issue—if this was actually a genuine message and not some Ori psy-op—was still in question.

But it made more sense than there being absolutely no Regulars at Axtraxis in present circumstances.

But prepared as they were for intruders, nothing could have aided them against the influence of Ignorance or the willful encroachment of Draus.

Using her temporal-affecting abilities via the Manifold, she timed one of her light-hops and managed to vitrify a part of a Rendbomb—compromising its external shell for her own means. From there, she connected to Mercy again, and through his eyes saw Shotin’s fate.

There were two familiar figures within the makeshift cage. The first was Seeker Shotin Kazahara: the cadre’s one-time adversary and now a member of the gestalt. Before him, laying in several pieces and missing a fourth of her face, was Kare Kitzuhada. His niece. Devoted Paladin. Now a corpse. Like most of the others.

A trembling resonance rippled out from Shotin. He possessed a shard of the Stillborn, alright, but as Draus regarded his halo, she saw that he was on the brink of shattering completely, his expression blank, his gaze vacant and locked to Kare’s body.

Shit.

Draus had seen shell-shock before—had applied emergency in-field cog-patching for Godclads and other soldiers, but that didn’t make her a mender. No. She needed pre-sequences structures to apply for any fix to happen, and considering Shotin’s current state, that wouldn’t do.

+Mercy?+ Draus asked.

+Yes,+ Mercy replied. +I will see him made stable.+

Still didn’t trust the half-strand, but having the Famine nested inside her made Necrotheurgy a non-issue. Would’ve preferred Avo or White-Rab by far, though. Even Chambers. Maybe. A very tight maybe.

As Mercy did whatever the fuck it was Necros do, Draus extended a Ghost-Link to Shotin. With the Nether collapsed, Highflame had gone lax with their counter-intel precautions. Sloppy; disappointing. Nothing stopping her from directing her ghosts in and interfacing with the prisoner. Shotin barely regarded her request at first, but after a few seconds, finally accepted, only to offer silence in return.

+Reg?+ Shotin said, his mind’s voice spent and barren of tone. +You’re still alive.+

+Seems so,+ Draus replied. +Niece isn’t.+

+No,+ Shotin replied. A pang of impossible pain—impossible for Draus to understand—spilled across the link, only to slide over her cognition like oil sliding upon water. Something inside Shotin had been lost. Some semblance of joy and life. His mind’s shape was so internal, so rooted to the center. Hers was closer to a bullet: externally faced and sculpted toward singular focuses and primary purposes.

+I was here for her,+ Shotin muttered. +I always wanted to be there for my sister when... when...+

+When Lorea Fucking Greatling tortured her to death?+ Draus let out a sigh as her own memories came flooding back. Wasn’t just an unpleasant day for him, The Greatling only killed one of his family; she sent the rest of the Orphans too. +I wasn’t there for that fuck-up of hers, but arrived in the aftermath.+

Shotin fell silent for a beat, and a deep root of bitterness rose from the soil of his mind. +Did any of you try to stop her? Did any of you even care? Hours. Days. She tortured her. She fucking—I had to listen, and it was all my fault. I knew that. But—+

+But you were a good soldier,+ Draus answered for him. +To answer your question: No. We’re Regs. We don’t care like you do. But Greatling’s scum. Snuffin’ a non-combat Citizen for a personal vendetta was embarrassin’ and pointless. You deciding to hold your district despite her provocation made you a proper enemy to us. Esteemed adversary.+

A disbelieving laugh sounded from his mind. +You fucking Golds... you and your bullshit honor and your psychotic idea of glory and strength and fuck you just fuck...+ He clutched his head as a low series of gasps sounded from him. +Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck...+ He finally slumped down to his knees and gathered what remained of his niece. +At least... at least I got to hold her before the end this time. At least... at least...+

Quietly, Shotin began to weep, and Draus withdrew her Ghost-Link. He needed comfort. Comfort she wasn’t capable of providing. She couldn’t muster the proper warmth or words he required. A better person right now would be Avo, or White-Rab, or Denton—almost anyone but her, really. It occurred to her how spoiled she was from her time with Avo. He was practically a Guild unto himself in the last month—so many Heavens contained in one Frame, so much expertise in one mind.

Fuck. Even Chambers might be better right now. As Mercy did his thing, a strange desire formed in Draus. Weapon was what she was, but there needed to be more. The world needed more than just killers. So. Time to ask someone who wasn’t. She activated her ansible once more, and willingly cast Aedon Chambers.

Never saw herself doing that before, but these days, the things she never expected were becoming the norm.